


The Faults In Our Star

by iqom



Category: Julius Caesar - Shakespeare, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Betrayal, Bloodless Gore, Drowning, Drugs, Heartbreak, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, King Mettaton, Knives, M/M, Manipulative Mettaton, Mettaton Being An Asshole, Papyrus-centric, Post-Undertale Neutral Route - King Mettaton Ending, REFERENCE TO NONCON/DUBCON, Revenge, Soul Sex, based on Julius Caesar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iqom/pseuds/iqom
Summary: The Underground is seeing times of peace, prosperity, happiness, and of course, glamour; best of all, Papyrus' favorite show is on television twenty-four hours a day! It seems that trusted royal agent's fierce loyalty to Mettaton could never be dissuaded until Papyrus realizes the shining star of the Underground absolutely has his share of faults. "No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected".





	1. Help Me, Papyrus, Or I Sink!

“Where are you taking me, my liege?”

Papyrus became considerably more nervous as his surroundings grew dark.

The King of the Underground stopped for a moment and turned, not letting go of Papyrus’ hand. “Could it be? The Great Papyrus, afraid of the dark?”

Papyrus puffed out his chest. “Preposterous!” The skeleton was absolutely _terrified_ of the dark.

Mettaton’s smile was penumbral in the dying light. “That’s what I thought…”

Thankfully, Mettaton’s delicate hand brushed against an unlit lantern, which prompted the phosphorous world to illuminate itself again.

“We’re almost there, my darling.” Mettaton continued walking, the plants beneath his heeled feet bending obediently to form a smoother path. Papyrus trotted along beside him like a Labrador, taking care not to trample on Mettaton’s cape -- royal blue with white trim, that trailed nearly ten feet behind him.

In a moment, Papyrus felt wooden planks under his boots. He found himself on a winding boardwalk, built over glowing turquoise water. Big, blue flowers sprouted from tiny islands sprinkled like pepper across the surface.

Mettaton unhooked his cape from his shoulders and folded it carefully. He then sat down and began to remove his pleather pink boots. Papyrus looked around, awestruck. The colors of the room were like nothing he had ever seen before.

“How do you know this place so well?” said Papyrus after a moment.

“I was born and raised near here,” said Mettaton plainly. Papyrus looked at him, surprised, before immediately averting his eyes in embarrassment. Mettaton had stripped completely and was now testing the water temperature with his dainty silicone foot.

“I thought you were built, not born,” Papyrus said, focusing hard on one of the flowers. He desperately wanted to turn and admire the glorious creature next to him, but he considered himself a rather virtuous and respectable fellow; especially around his supreme ruler.

“That's a story for another time, darling,” Mettaton replied mysteriously. There was a gentle splash.

“The water feels marvelous. You should join me.”

Papyrus balked at Mettaton, who was now waist-deep in the pool.

“Your Majesty… I don't think--”

Mettaton folded his arms. “I _command_ you to join me.”

Papyrus diligently shed his MTT Guard uniform without another word. He eased himself into the water. It was deliciously warm.

He made his way over to Mettaton, who was resting his elbows on one of the tiny islands, admiring the flower growing on it like it was a precious jewel.

“Do you know what these are, Papyrus?” Mettaton asked as the skeleton drew near.

“Flowers,” answered Papyrus with confidence. Mettaton chuckled.

“You’re right, darling, but I meant specifically. They’re called echo flowers. Watch.”

Mettaton took the cerulean stem in his fingertips and bent the flower’s head towards his lips, whispering something into it.

“Now. Touch it.” Mettaton stepped aside, allowing Papyrus to approach.

Papyrus hesitantly tapped a phalanx on one of the petals.

“ _Do you love me, Papyrus?_ ”

Papyrus blushed a deep red. Mettaton smiled cheekily. “You’d best answer the question.”

Papyrus didn’t hesitate before leaning in and whispering to the flower.

Mettaton surprised him from behind, wrapping a metallic arm around his ribcage. Papyrus gulped, willing himself not to start quivering.

Resting his angular chin on Papyrus’ shoulder, Mettaton reached forward and brushed his fingers against the flower.

“ _Always, my liege.”_

Papyrus felt soft, plastic lips on his mandible and wondered idly what would happen if he were to pass out.

“I’m going for a swim,” Mettaton murmured into Papyrus’s ear canal, “Care to join me?”

“I-I can't swim,” Papyrus admitted, overwhelmed and now humiliated. Mettaton laughed softly.

“Too bad. Well, wait for me on the boardwalk, then.” Mettaton released Papyrus and started wading towards deeper water.

Papyrus turned to obey, but stopped, watching the water ripple around his spine as Mettaton's movement disturbed its surface. _How… does metal… float?_

A harsh cry and splashing was heard.

Papyrus whirled around. To his horror, Mettaton was thrashing around violently in the deep water, struggling to keep his head up. There was a current, weak in comparison to the river Papyrus knew near Snowdin, but strong enough to pull the king’s head underwater for several horrible seconds at a time before he burst up again, choking and gurgling.

“Papyrus!” Mettaton screamed, water rushing down his throat and distorting his voice box.

Without a second thought, Papyrus charged towards the drowning robot. The water got deeper and deeper -- chest level, neck level -- until Papyrus was fighting as well, kicking his legs furiously to stay above the water.

He grasped wildly for Mettaton and miraculously found the robot’s waist. Mettaton had sunk beneath the surface and his hands were desperate for something to hold on to. Finding Papyrus, he gripped him like a vise.

Papyrus’ kicking didn't cease until his toe bones brushed soft sand again. Lifting the robot over his shoulder, he hurried him to land and set him gently on the boardwalk before clambering up next to him.

“I forgot… metal body…” Glowing green water bubbled up and spilled over Mettaton’s lips. “I used to swim… all the time…”

Papyrus was too worked up to be confused by this. “Your Majesty, you must be more careful!” he insisted, the shrill panic apparent in his voice, “The Underground needs you!”

After a few hacking coughs, Mettaton expelled the excess water from his system. He rolled over onto Papyrus’ lap, exhausted, giving the easily flustered skeleton yet another shock.

“I need you,” Mettaton whispered hoarsely, dragging a finger along Papyrus’ femur. His damp black hair curled around the bones like moss growing on bark.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I-I don't think this is the right time for--”

“Shush, Papyrus, for once in your life,” Mettaton snapped, his eyes closed. Papyrus fell silent, allowing the robot to wordlessly explore his leg and hip bones. His fingers were wandering dangerously close to Papyrus’ pubis. It felt spectacular. He gulped, hoping desperately that his magic wouldn't do anything… improper.

After a long while of Papyrus holding his breath and thinking about Sans, Mettaton sat up, leaving the skeleton and his pelvis incident free.

Mettaton began to get dressed. Papyrus followed suit.

“Thank you, darling,” Mettaton said, batting his fluffy eyelashes at Papyrus, “You couldn't swim, but you dove after me without thinking.”

Pride blossomed in Papyrus’ soul. “It’s my job!”

Mettaton smiled, taking Papyrus’ hand. “Your bravery and loyalty will not be soon forgotten. A love for one’s king is a love for oneself, you know.”

“I’ll remember that, Your Majesty!” Papyrus beamed.

“You deserve a reward, my dear. A _handsome_ reward,” Mettaton winked. Papyrus’ soul fluttered excitedly, “Come now. Let’s return to the palace. I have something special for you.”


	2. They Believe What They Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mettaton puts on an elaborate and grotesque show for Muffet's birthday. Curiously, Sans lets Papyrus believe that it's not a show at all.

“Sounds like it went _swimmingly._ ”

Papyrus rolled his eyes. Sans seemed incapable of having a conversation without tacking on mind-numbingly stupid puns.

“It didn’t, actually, because he couldn’t swim,” Papyrus retorted. “So, ha!”

Sans smiled. “Foiled again by my bro, as usual. I’m headed to Grillby’s tonight, for old times sake. Wanna come?”

Papyrus glowered. “Sans, we work tonight! Both of us!”

The two brothers were situated at their post outside of the palace’s great double doors, tasked with vetting anyone who might wish to enter. Papyrus loved being in the palace courtyard; white marble steps plunged down the sloping hill, lined on either side by hedges in the shape of Mettaton’s stunning visage, until it reached the robot’s beautiful rose garden below. Backed by fluffy clouds of glitter and the painted pink sky, MTT-brand Underground looked sublime, unworldly, like a fairytale. Papyrus never grew tired of such a breathtaking view.

Sans’ eye gleamed. He knew something. “It’s Mettaton’s--”

“ _King_ Mettaton,” Papyrus gasped, shocked at his brother’s rudeness.

“...best friend’s birthday,” Sans continued, “He doesn’t need us there. I promise you, he won’t notice we’re gone.”

“How would _you_ know?”

Sans was purposefully avoiding Papyrus’ gaze. “I was there. Last year. You won’t like it, Paps. Trust me.”

Papyrus remembered the previous year, when Sans was chosen to stand guard for Mettaton’s party and Papyrus was not. In fact, he had been strictly prohibited from attending like most of the other guards. _Back when I wasn’t his favorite,_ Papyrus thought, _but things are different now._ Mettaton was well aware of Sans’ incredible power and trusted him fiercely; only recently had he taken a sudden strong affinity to Papyrus.

This year, Papyrus was finally allowed to attend, and there was no chance that he would turn such an invitation down.

“He invited me,” Papyrus said smugly, “So I have to go!”

“He didn’t _invite_ you, Paps, you’re not going to be a guest. You’re just supposed to be there… and watch.”

“Why are you acting like that?” Papyrus narrowed his eye sockets.

“Like what?” Sans was not meeting his brother’s scrutinizing gaze, making the younger skeleton even more suspicious.

“Did something happen last year?”

“Paps, _please._  Just don’t go.” Was that… _desperation_ in his voice? Papyrus’ confidence wavered. What on earth was so bad about this particular party? It was scaring him somewhat.

He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the pink pager on his belt loop.

“Our king needs me,” Papyrus said pointedly, pushing away his sneaking feelings of doubt, “Probably to prepare for his party.”

Sans sighed, clicking off his own pager. “Alright, bro. You know where to find me.” With that, they parted ways; Papyrus into the palace and Sans down the marble steps in pursuit of a drink and some nostalgia.

* * *

 

“Where’s your brother?” Mettaton demanded when Papyrus entered the king’s private quarters.

He was sitting at his vanity, the mirror surrounded by Hollywood studio lights, applying a fresh layer of makeup.

“I-I don’t know,” Papyrus lied. _Dammit, Sans!_

“Hmph. He’s a dear, but so unreliable,” Mettaton huffed as he pressed glitter to his eyelids with his pinkie fingertip, “Not like you, Papy-darling. I can always count on you.”

Papyrus positively glowed, noting the pet name. He aimed to please.

“Perhaps it is good that you came alone,” Mettaton mused, putting on the last finishing touches and rising from his chair. He was wearing a knee-length dress, with a sequined corset that ended with layers of fluffy pink taffeta. “What do you think of my party outfit?” Mettaton turned slowly for Papyrus, arms delicately held out. He looked like the loveliest of ballerinas.

“It’s… it’s beautiful!” Papyrus managed, unable to keep himself from staring.

Mettaton smiled, brushing his fingers affectionately under Papyrus’ chin as he flounced by him. “I’m sure Muffy will love it. She’s a connoisseur of cute little dresses. Now! Come to bed with me, darling. It’s time for your reward.”

Papyrus froze, his eyes widening. “W...wh--”

“Hurry, now!” Mettaton trilled. He was settling on his gigantic bed amongst the fluffy pink pillows.

_Could he… could this really be…?_

It’s not like this hadn't been nearly a lifelong dream of the skeleton’s. He’d been watching Mettaton’s TV show with stars in his eyes since the pilot episode, and had spent many a night fantasizing about his favorite sexy rectangle. It was already a dream come true to work so close beside him, but now…

Papyrus kicked off his boots and climbed nervously onto the mattress with his king.

“I… I’m sorry if I appear n-nervous… it’s just that I’ve n-never--”

He noticed Mettaton withdrawing a syringe from a plastic pink case. _That doesn’t seem right…_

“Never done this before?” Mettaton finished conversationally. Papyrus watched, speechless, as Mettaton tapped a small bag of glassy white powder into a silver spoon and began mixing it with small spurts of water from the syringe.

“Oh… I… ah, I don’t do that,” Papyrus stammered quickly as Mettaton drew the completed solution into the syringe. He had seen Sans do something similar once, when they were both much younger, and it had been a traumatic experience.

“Huh. Suit yourself,” Mettaton said sweetly, holding the syringe out to Papyrus, “Just be a dear, would you…?”

Papyrus took the syringe with shaking hands. Mettaton crawled into the skeleton’s lap and pulled up his skirt unabashedly, displaying his lacy black panties and the soul container above it. Popping open the transparent plastic cover with a latch on his side, Mettaton looked back to Papyrus expectantly.

“I… I just…?” Papyrus poised the needle over Mettaton’s soul. He felt shocked, nauseated, and -- he hated himself for this-- somewhat aroused.

“Yes, darling,” Mettaton murmured eagerly, “Good man.”

Papyrus steeled himself and stuck the needle into Mettaton’s soul, pushing in the substance as fast as he could before tossing the syringe aside.

“Mmmmmm,” Mettaton moaned, his head tipping back onto Papyrus’ shoulder. “Oh, _yes!"_

Papyrus felt wholly shaken and confused. This wasn’t the Mettaton he knew. In fact, Papyrus could distinctly remember an anti-drug episode the robot had done a few years back on _Project MTT._

Mettaton closed his soul container and hopped up off the bed, eyes blazing. “It’s almost time for Muffy’s party!” he sang, “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?”

“Of course, my liege,” Papyrus said quietly, “Your wish is my command.”

“Mmm. I love you, darling,” Mettaton threw his arms around the skeleton and squeezed him tight. “Come! The guests will arrive soon! There’s no time to waste!”

* * *

 

Papyrus stayed cloaked in the shadows of the throne room, watching the party festivities uncomfortably. Mettaton’s raw energy was disconcerting to him.

 _How many times has he done... that?_ Papyrus wondered.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud shrieking from Mettaton’s arachnoid guest of honor. He glanced over, watched as Mettaton shoved a cupcake between her pincers.

“ _Sweets for the sweet!"_  he squealed, swatting her butt playfully. She grabbed him with all six of her gangly arms and pressed her face to his, the two messily indulging on the cupcake between each other’s greedy mouths.

“You nasty little thing,” Mettaton clucked after a while, his face smeared with cake and frosting. The young woman giggled, reaching for a napkin on the banquet table. She wiped her mouth and lazily tossed the napkin to the floor.

“Your Majesty.” A familiar voice echoed through the throne room from the doors. “We have the prisoner.” It was Sans. Next to him was a feline monster, wearing a heavy collar and chain, his yellow eyes downcast.

“Oh, _excellent!_ ” Mettaton clapped his hands together gleefully. “Birthday girl, I want you sitting with me, darling. Everyone else! Take your seats!”

Mettaton’s distinguished guests found their places at the table. Mettaton collapsed into his throne, pulling the spider-woman onto his lap.

 _What_ is _this?_ Papyrus was perplexed. He had assumed the birthday party to be perhaps a nice dinner and cocktail sort of deal, but watching this made him feel dirty. Not in a nice way.

Sans brought the prisoner to the steps of the throne. The prisoner collapsed to his knees. His ribs were showing through his matted pelt. Papyrus had not been aware that Mettaton kept prisoners.

“Mettaton…” the cat wheezed, “How… could you…?”

“Well, well, well. Welly well well, welly well. Look who it is. That’s _Your Majesty_ to you, darling,” Mettaton said apathetically, toying with a bow in Muffet's hair, “You always had a knack for being disrespectful… Burgerpants.”

Burgerpants was silent.

“See, I’ve been hearing some… _disturbing rumors._ You always talked about wanting to become an actor, and I humored you. It was cute. What’s _not cute,"_  Mettaton leaned forward, eyes glittering dangerously; Muffet had a malicious smile plastered on her purple face, “is you trying to start your own television show. You know that’s strictly against the rules.”

“Look around, Mettaton!” Burgerpants spat blood onto the white tile, “Look what you’re doing! You’re a tyrant!”

Mettaton looked around idly. “Seems fine to me.” The spectators giggled. Papyrus was frozen to the spot, not believing what he was seeing. _Sans…?_

Sans was unreadable, eyes glazed over as he dropped the chain and retired from the throne room.

Mettaton gently dislodged Muffet from his lap and descended the stairs with her, arm in arms. Burgerpants watched him warily, scooting away as he drew near.

“What are you going to do to me?” he panted.

“It’s not a question of what _I’m_ going to do to you, darling,” Mettaton chirped, grinning down at his former employee, “I’m not a particularly violent sort of robot.”

“Could have fooled me,” Burgerpants hissed.

“My dearest friend here, on the other hand,” Mettaton and Muffet exchanged a smirk, “has a taste for souls. Particularly the souls of my defectors.”

 _Oh… God…_ Papyrus realized in horror what was about to happen.

Burgerpants’ eyes widened as Muffet drew near. All of her fingers were waggling excitedly.

“Please, _no! Fuck!_ ” Muffet grasped Burgerpants’ face with four of her hands, smiling down at him.

“May I?” Muffet squeaked.

Mettaton resumed his place on the throne. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Muffet twisted Burgerpants around sharply. He let out a strangled cry as one of her hands shot upwards into the air and then plunged deep into his throat. Mettaton’s guests roared. Papyrus felt faint.

Before Papyrus finally had to excuse himself, he witnessed Muffet hold up Burgerpants’ beating soul triumphantly in her fist before shoving it between her pincers. Burgerpants’ body evaporated, leaving the collar and chain coiled behind on the floor.

Papyrus ran from the hall unnoticed, missing Burgerpants reappear. The “prisoner” bowed happily, receiving a standing ovation from the audience.

* * *

 

Papyrus stumbled out the back door, collapsing onto all fours and dry-heaving.

“I told you not to go.” It was Sans, leaning up against the wall of the palace with his arms folded across his chest.

Papyrus burst into tears. “What _was_ that?!” he wailed despairingly, pressing his forehead to the cold stone below him.

“Damage control,” replied Sans darkly, “Mettaton can’t have a utopia unless everyone’s in agreement.”

“That’s… that’s not _right,_ ” Papyrus gasped, his breath catching painfully in his throat.

“It happens once a year, Paps. Forget about it. Do what Mettaton wants, and everything will be fine.”

Papyrus felt his heart was breaking.

“Anything I can do, bro?”

“Just… leave me alone,” he whispered. Sans went back inside.

Papyrus tried to clear the horrifying images from his brain. He wished he could simply erase the memory. He turned onto his side and drew his knees up to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut.

* * *

 

“Darling?”

Papyrus scrambled backwards, hot tears running down his face. He had been huddled in the courtyard for some time now.

He wanted to scream, _stay away from me!_ But the image of him kneeling where Burgerpants was, looking up into the king’s sneering face…

Mettaton crouched down in front of him, holding out a hand. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

“Why…” Papyrus said in a low voice, staring at Mettaton, “Why did you do that to him?”

“Oh dear…” Mettaton looked very concerned, “Papyrus, did you think that was _real?_ ”

Papyrus blinked. “W-what?”

“It’s a _show,_ darling, I do something gruesome for Muffy every year!” Mettaton smiled kindly. “A magic trick that I designed. Burgerpants loves to act, and I thought it might be a good way to give him some exposure by including him this year. Oh, my… no, I would _never…"_

“It was fake. An act,” Papyrus confirmed cautiously. 

“An act.”

Papyrus surprised both of them by throwing himself into Mettaton’s arms. He desperately wished to believe this. Mettaton let it happen, holding the distraught skeleton close.

“I’ve scared you too many times for one day,” Mettaton murmured softly, stroking his skull, “Come to my room with me, darling. This party is tiresome, they’ll get on without me just fine. Let me comfort you.”

Mettaton’s soothing voice was intoxicating. The robot had incredible charisma and influence over anyone he met, Papyrus being no exception.

Papyrus looked into Mettaton’s face and was met by a pair of thin lips pressed to his teeth. They stayed like that for a moment, in the darkness of the courtyard.

“I adore you, Papyrus,” Mettaton murmured. His eyes were glowing like warm embers in the dim light. “Do you trust me?” He reached forward and gently brushed a tear from Papyrus’s cheekbone.

Papyrus nodded, blushing. _Of course it was an act._ Why would anyone assassinate someone at a birthday party? He felt a little embarrassed; also, angry with Sans. He was sure his older brother found his gullibility very funny.

An act. _Right?_

Papyrus followed Mettaton to his bedchambers, unable to think. The robot closed and locked the door behind them.


	3. Beware "March Idol"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mettaton gets a mysterious phone call from an old friend.

Papyrus was snoring, satisfied, in Mettaton’s lap. He drummed his fingers lightly on the skeleton’s temple, admiring the smooth curvature of his skull. He was cute, but oh so dumb. Innocent. It had been great fun watching him squirm and whimper while Mettaton touched him, licked him, sucked him, used him for the first time. He doubted it would ever be quite as fun again, now that Papyrus knew what to expect, but that didn’t mean it was off the table. Especially now that he had the skeleton wrapped around his little finger. _If only Sans could see him now…_

Mettaton bit his lip, deep in thought. The effects of the drug had not worn off, and he was still desperately unfulfilled. He briefly considered awakening his loyal subject for round two, but he looked so utterly peaceful...

The pink bedside landline began to sing the tune of _Death by Glamour_ , interrupting his reverie. He reached over, careful not to disturb his slumbering partner, and answered.

“Mmyes?”

“M-Mettaton.”

Mettaton gasped. " _A-Alphys?”_

He hadn’t heard from her in years, but the nervous, wavering voice was unmistakable.

“Are you d-doing _March Idol_ this year?”

“Alphys, slow down, darling,” he chuckled, “It’s been ages! Where are you? Are you going to come back and visit?”

“Are you doing _March Idol_ this year?”

What a ridiculous question. Mettaton did _March Idol_ every year, no exceptions. It was one of his favorite segments (behind _October Idol,_ of course) because he could use the beautiful cherry blossoms that time of year as backdrop for the stage. The show always worked the same way: Mettaton auditioned, beat the trials of the game, and then won every season, every month. Seeing as _February Idol_ was wrapping up (Mettaton had one more dance trial to pass with flying colors), the logistics of _March Idol_ would surely be in the works with his producers in the next few days.

What was more unbelievable to Mettaton was that Alphys, wherever she was, was clearly keeping up on his television programs without having contacted him for so long.

“Yes, darling,” he said, a little miffed, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“ _Don’t do it._ ” Alphys’ voice was sinister, black, ominous. Mettaton felt a little unnerved.

“What on earth are you--”

“Cancel _March Idol_ this m-month. J-Just this month. You t-trust me, don’t you?”

“We haven’t spoken in _years,_ ” Mettaton reminded her tersely, “And you can’t just _cancel_ a television program a week before it airs.”

“So you don’t trust me, then?”

“ _Fuck,_ Alphys!”

Papyrus stirred. Mettaton lowered his voice.

“Come back. _Please._  I miss you so much,” he murmured, overcome with emotion. He longed to see his dear friend again. They had spent so many wonderful years together.

“I’ve been w-waking up in cold sweats, screaming, from h-horrible nightmares… I have a t-terrible feeling, Mettaton. Ab-about that s-show.”

“Come _see me_ ,” Mettaton insisted, “and we’ll talk about it. Face to face. _Hello?_ ”

Dial tone. Alphys had already hung up.

Mettaton slammed the receiver a bit too hard. _God dammit._ He lost her. Again. _What on earth was that about?_ Mettaton was all too familiar with Alphys’ rampant anxiety. It didn’t surprise him too much that the only call he would get from her in ages was her worrying about something irrational. All he could hope was that she’d call again, in a better mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! :) Next one will be longer. This is one of the signature parts of the play, though, so I wanted it to stand alone.


	4. As A Sick Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seeds of doubt have been planted in Papyrus' mind. Does Mettaton truly love him... or does he love that Papyrus loves him?

The bleak, blustery roads behind Snowdin offered Papyrus a perfect sanctuary to be alone with his thoughts.

He wasn’t _troubled,_ per se, but he was certainly overwhelmed. So much had happened so quickly; particularly in the last forty-eight hours.

Mettaton was such a mystery and it made the skeleton’s head hurt. Their relationship was so painfully ambiguous. Mettaton had regarded Papyrus that morning with a chilly politeness that was heartrendingly distant, considering that he had come straight to work from the king’s bedchambers. Considering the passion of the night before… considering how often he had moaned Papyrus’ name and professed his love, prompting the ecstatic skeleton to do the same…

Papyrus needed an escape. Just for a moment. 

He found that he missed the snow and frozen temperatures while working in Mettaton’s carefully climate-controlled world. Skeletons _feel_ cold, but are not affected by it; so Snowdin’s sub-zero temperatures leaving thin layers of frost on his bones were not an annoyance but instead felt rather nostalgic. It reminded him of when times were simple, when he would watch the old  _Project MTT_   reruns with Sans (sound asleep) on the worn living room couch. When he would loiter outside of the Inn, or Grillby's, and daydream about someday meeting  _his_   _idea_ of Mettaton -- a perfect image that had become cracked and compromised by working so close with him. When Mettaton was an entertainer, not a sovereign, and did what he did best...

“Aren’t you cold without your scarf, Papyrus?”

Papyrus flinched. The squeaky child’s voice that seemed to come from nowhere took him by great surprise.

He searched wildly behind him for the speaker, but the road was empty. Heart in his throat, he turned and jerked violently again, finding the child directly in front of him.

A _human_ child. The first human Papyrus had seen in the Underground since…

The child looked surprisingly like Frisk. Small, chubby, with a green and yellow striped shirt and short flaxen hair that curled gently inwards towards their rosy cheeks.

It was like they had appeared out of nowhere.

Papyrus’ training returned to him at once. “HUMAN!” he declared, smiling affably, “Let me be the first to extend my warmest welcomes to the Underground!” Papyrus knew the script backwards and forwards. “As a human and honored guest, you are cordially welcome to join the ranks of our Supreme Ruler King Mettaton’s absolutely fabulous fan club!”

The child’s composed smile did not change. “I am no fan of Mettaton’s.”

Papyrus blinked, eyes widening in shock. “Y-you can’t say that, human!” he hissed sharply, feeling uneasy, “That’s against the law!”

“You’ve always fascinated me, Papyrus,” the child said conversationally, “You are so loyal to those who care nothing for you. You put all of your trust in Frisk, and you’re simply lucky that they decided to spare your life… this time. And then, of course, your _king,_ ” they sneered, like the word signified some sort of bad joke, “You worship him. Fawn over him. Cater to his every whim. And he uses you because you’re convenient.”

“ _Who are you?”_ Papyrus gasped. His heart was beating fast under his rib cage. “How do you know…”

“Think about it, Papyrus. Mettaton is weak. You know that, deep down. You know that ‘no problems in the Underground’ means that problems are brushed under a hot pink rug. You know that a truly virtuous ruler doesn’t demand everyone worship him like a god and murder those who disagree.”

“It was an act!” Papyrus shrieked. The disturbing image of Muffet consuming Burgerpants’ soul returned to him. _An act. An act. An act._

“But where do the real defectors go, Papyrus? Think! You’ve seen them, and then _not_ seen them. It’s damage control. Mettaton can’t have a utopia unless everyone is in agreement.”

 _It’s damage control…_ Papyrus had heard those words before…

The child’s eyes were unnaturally wide and black like pitch. “He’s  _not_ a god, Papyrus. He’s an entertainment robot, drunk on power. He will destroy you. Wake up.”

“Evil spirit,” Papyrus snarled, his bones shaking as dark liquid began to drip down the child’s face from their saucer-like eyes, “Get out of my sight.”

"He doesn't love the Underground, and he doesn't love you. He _never_ loved you." 

 _I know._  

" _Get out of my sight!_ " Papyrus roared, voice shaking. A single, hot tear rolled down his cheekbone. 

"As... you... wish..."

The child ran towards Papyrus, jaw unhinged. Papyrus fell to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut.

Nothing happened. He opened one eye.

Papyrus was alone in the snowy wilderness.

* * *

 

Grillby’s was empty, with the exception of Sans; sleeping at a corner booth with a nearly-finished beer and a basket of fries.

Papyrus collapsed into the booth across from him and slammed his bony palms on the table, jolting his brother awake.

“Sans, tell me what's going on!”

Sans read his brother's shaken expression. “You’ve met Chara, then?” 

“That’s an _evil spirit,_ ” Papyrus whispered hoarsely, “You shouldn’t be talking to it.”

“Not exactly, bro,” Sans yawned, tossing a fry into his open mouth. “They’re the ghost of a human. And they know what they’re talking about.”

“They’re _talking about heresy,_ ” Papyrus hissed, “They tried to turn me against the king.”

“There are many who are against the king already, Paps,” Sans said mysteriously, “Chara is just... setting things in motion.”

Papyrus took a deep, ragged breath. “ _What_ things in motion?”

“Nothing.” Clearly something. Papyrus knew that merciless gleam in his brother’s eye.

“I-I… I can arrest y-you… for c-conspiracy to h-high t-treason...,” Papyrus managed, “I… this can’t…”

“No, you can’t,” Sans replied matter-of-factly, “‘Cus I’m conspiring nothing. You’ll have nothing to hold me on. But, regardless… I know you know what’s been going on in the Underground these days.”

Papyrus squared his jaw, folding his arms stubbornly.

“You know he’s unfit to rule.”

 _Papyrus!_ Mettaton’s panicked voice echoed in Papyrus’ ear. The divinity of the Underground, drowning in such slow-moving water… how _weak_ he had been, mewling and coughing on the boardwalk like a sick girl…

“Just take some time to think about it, Paps. Stop letting that guy cloud your judgement. Then, we can really talk.”

 _Papy-darling… oh yes… that’s it…_ Mettaton’s arms had been strong and comforting the night before, guiding Papyrus through uncharted territory. _Show me how much you love me…_

Sans finished his beer and rose from the table. “Help yourself to the fries.”


	5. Colossus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus feels the sting of infidelity from someone who never promised to be faithful. He also learns of a secret assembly to be held at Muffet's estate; it certainly concerns the king.

“Alphys waterproofed you surprisingly well,” said Sans, inspecting the nest of circuitry in Mettaton’s chest. “Too bad your torso is still metal.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Mettaton mused, “I do wish I could go for a swim without nearly drowning.”

He was lying supine on Sans’ operating table in the palace lab, tolerating his monthly check-up. The lab was dim; quiet, save for a Chopin CD playing softly in the background as Sans checked Mettaton’s wires with an overhead lamp.

When Alphys disappeared, Mettaton discovered an equally brilliant scientific mind in his agent and tasked him to make sure his robot body was operating as it should. Sans was in the process of creating fully silicone chest and torso pieces, with Mettaton's soul embedded in the synthetic stomach flesh rather than hovering suspended in a chamber. 

“Maybe swimming needs to be off the table for a while,” Sans remarked, "At least until your new chest and torso are done."

"And how long until then?" Mettaton said, impatience creeping into his voice. Sans had made the initial promise over a year ago. 

"Soon."

"Make it sooner," Mettaton snapped, "I want the new body for the dance portion of  _March Idol._ Next week."

"Oh, it'll be done by then," Sans said mysteriously, "That's a guarantee.  _Your Majesty._ " 

Mettaton noted a hint of malevolence in Sans' voice and chalked it up to the skeleton purposely being difficult. "It had better be. I'm tired of waiting. Darling."  _You lazy fuck._

The small circle of light slid from Mettaton’s chest down to the soul container on his stomach as Sans adjusted the lamp’s head.

“Shooting up, I see,” Sans said bluntly, noticing a small, dark blue splotch surrounding a pinprick on the king’s pink soul.

“Not really your business, _agent_.”

Sans unbuttoned his jacket and pulled up his shirt, revealing his own soul; splotchy like a tortoiseshell.

Mettaton sighed, closing his eyes. “Alright. Yes. On occasion. It’s just nice to have a little extra… extra _oomph_ now and again.”

Sans adjusted his clothing before opening the door to Mettaton’s soul container. “I prefer downers myself,” he remarked, checking the door’s tiny hinges with a magnifying glass, “Your stuff makes me wanna jump out of my skin. If I had skin. Heh.”

Mettaton ignored this. “Any news to report?”

Sans thought for a moment. “We had a monster try to jump the barrier today. The guy was out of his mind. Yelling something about not being able to stand the theme song anymore.”

Mettaton huffed disinterestedly, the news clearly not bothering him in the slightest. “You _resolved_ the situation, I take it?”

“Yup.”

“Leftovers disposed of?”

“Yup.”

Mettaton smiled, eyes still closed. “Good boy, Sansy. Anything else?” His voice was high pitched, expectant.

Sans’ hand closed around Mettaton’s soul. It was soft, wet, and vulnerable. Mettaton breathed in deeply, his smile spreading wider.

This was a secret tradition of theirs at the end of each checkup. For Sans, it was routine and pedantic; a chore.

Sans’ thumb traced tiny circles on the sticky surface of the heart. Mettaton whined and squirmed on the table. Sans glanced up surreptitiously at the dark corner of the room, checking to make sure he wasn’t blocking the security camera’s view.  

* * *

_Sans... how could you…?_

Papyrus watched live from his office, dumbstruck. He couldn’t even bring himself to cry; all he was capable of was staring blankly at the two moving figures on the screen. Mettaton biting his lip, his hips bucking with pleasure, Sans’ brighter eye glowing confidently in the single light source.

“Don’t blame Sans,” Chara squeaked, “He has to if he wants to keep his job.”

Although the video feed didn’t have audio, Mettaton’s body shuddering violently on the table clearly marked the end of the encounter. Papyrus hurriedly turned off his computer and buried his face in his hands. He felt like he had been sliced down the middle.

 _He made you feel special. That’s what he does with everyone, Papyrus._ Chara was speaking in his head again. It was unnerving, but Papyrus was much too distraught to care. He choked out a sob.

_He’s a liar, he’s a cheater, and he’s weak. The Underground deserves better than that, don’t you think?_

“I… I s-should…”

_Keep going. Say it out loud._

“I should have let him drown,” Papyrus whispered into his palms. Those words prompted another wave of conflicted agony and the skeleton doubled over in pain.

_Do you know where Muffet lives?_

Papyrus looked up from his hands at Chara, who was standing calmly with their hands in their pockets. He thought of the grandiose Victorian-style mansion, visible from the south side of the castle. Chara saw the image in his head and, satisfied that Papyrus knew the place, responded.  

“There’s a meeting tonight, at Muffet’s estate. I’ll be there. Muffet will be there. Sans will be there. And…” A hint of satisfaction danced across Chara’s lips, too fast to actually be classified as a smile, “Napstablook will be there.”

_Seeing as you’re our next king, you should probably be there too._

Papyrus stared, his mind overworked. “I… _what?_ ”

“It’ll all make sense in time, Papyrus. Be there at midnight. I’m sure your brother can give you a ride.”

Chara vanished.

Papyrus crumbled to his knees behind his desk, wishing death upon himself. It seemed preferable to this.


	6. But In Ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus is now officially part of a scheme to murder King Mettaton.

It seemed Papyrus was the last to arrive at Muffet’s imposing mansion, despite having knocked on the door at ten to midnight.

Muffet had greeted him wordlessly at the door, taking his hand in one of hers and leading him across the dusty floorboards of her entrance hall. She was dressed in a cottony purple nightgown, the six delicate bell sleeves each adorned with a violet ribbon.

The ceiling was at least three or four stories high, sporting a monstrous crystal chandelier covered in cobwebs. Papyrus craned his neck and looked around in awe, noting how profoundly tall the windows were and how much heavy purple velvet was necessary for the curtains that framed them.

The hall opened up to a drawing room, featuring a monstrous teakwood dining table and, strangely, a large cannon aimed out the open far window. Those seated at the table -- Chara and Sans -- looked as though they were expecting him. No: they had been _waiting_ for him.

Chara brightened especially as Papyrus entered.

“I knew you would come!” they exclaimed, their grin unnerving Papyrus greatly. Something about those impossibly ruddy cheeks and saucer-shaped eyes, black as ebony. “This is good. Now, the meeting can truly begin. Come on, Blooky!”

“Oh……… please don’t call me that……….if that’s okay……….Chara………”

Papyrus suddenly noticed the unassuming ghost, who had been lying somberly on the floor in a shadowed corner of the room, sit up and float over to join the group. The skeleton and the ghost locked eyes for a moment, and Papyrus knew immediately that Napstablook was as ambivalent about being there as he was. He knew the ghost to be somewhat morose in general, but there was a certain apprehension in their gaze that Papyrus recognized in himself.

 _What_ exactly _is this "meeting" for?_

Muffet was grinning from ear to ear as she settled at the far end of the table. Sans looked groggy and impassive. Once Papyrus sat down, he studied his brother’s face for a moment, hoping to find answers in his expression. The other skeleton seemed to be deliberately avoiding him, and thus revealed nothing.

“Sans,” Chara began, “How long until Mettaton’s new torso is ready?”

“Four days, tops,” said Sans gruffly, “He insisted it be ready by his _Idol_ dance performance… or whatever. I don’t watch that shit.”

Papyrus’ stomach was churning. Everything being said here was highly illegal; discussing private matters of the king… stating _dislike_ for his television programs…

Chara smiled. “Perfect. I think that particular performance would be a great place to do it.”

“To do _what?!_ ” Papyrus exclaimed suddenly, surprising everyone.

It was Napstablook who eventually spoke up.

“We’re going to kill the king.”

Several long, awkward beats of silence passed over the table.

_Papyrus. I know how you must be feeling right now. Don’t allow your emotions to cloud your judgement. You’ve experienced firsthand how he manipulates people and then tosses them away like trash. Keep your mouth shut and your mind open, for just a little longer._

“We all know the king is useless, and will end up destroying the Underground. No need for more discussion of that. Let’s go around the room and air our personal grievances, shall we?” Chara’s eyes were fixed on Papyrus, “Let’s start with Muffet, and then Napstablook.”

Muffet giggled and whipped out a fat purple cigar. “He’s the worst friend I’ve _ever_ had,” she exclaimed as she lit it, “He doesn’t care about spiders at all. He says he does, of course, but Chara told me a spider ran across his foot once and he…” she took a long drag from the cigar, “ _stomped_ on her.”

Puffs of purple smoke billowed around her. It smelled strongly of baked goods.

“I don’t like liars,” Muffet finished, “Plus, I really want his shoe collection. I hope they’ll fit.”

“Thank you, Muffet. Blooky, _darling?_ ”

Napstablook looked extremely uncomfortable; bobbing nervously in their seat, their oblong eyes even wider than usual.

“Oh…… well, this is kind of a secret. But…….. see, I had a cousin……… a long time ago……… he promised he would never leave me……….. but he vanished without a trace, so I assumed he ceased to exist……. or something…….. I don’t know, I’m sorry…………”

 _"Then_ what happened?” Chara pressed impatiently. Napstablook looked panicked.

“U-uh………. well, he left me………. to get a corporeal body…………… and then he became famous……………”

“Mettaton’s your cousin,” Chara interjected, “He promised you he’d be with you forever, right, Blooky? But he left you to be _famous._ ”

“I………. I don’t know……… oh………..”

“Sans?” Chara turned to him.

“I’m tired of killing people for him,” said Sans, “Blasting innocent people because they don’t like his stupid TV show. He makes himself out to be a god, when he’s really just a ghost soul in a hunk of silicone…”

Sans glanced over at Papyrus for a moment before looking away again. “He makes me… _do things_ to him. Just because he can.”

Chara locked eyes with Papyrus. _How about you?_

“He broke my heart,” said Papyrus simply, staring down at his knees.

_And now we’ll break his._

* * *

 

“Chara’s in your head too, aren’t they?”

After the meeting, Papyrus had escaped the mansion without another word and was now loitering perturbedly in Muffet’s bramble gardens.

Papyrus turned to face the ghost. “Yeah.”

Napstablook turned their face up to the deep purple night sky. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.”

The “plan” Papyrus had been so desperately trying to shake from his imagination came rushing back. It was to be a _slaughter_ , on live television. He was hit with a sudden wave of nausea, and found himself unable to speak.

“My cousin never wanted power,” Napstablook continued. Their voice was confident (comparatively speaking), “He just wanted to be a star……… so I wonder who’s fault it really is…… that it came to this?”

“I… I don’t know,” Papyrus whispered thickly, his soul churning.

“Maybe………… maybe it’s our fault for letting this happen……… letting a television personality be crowned king?”

Papyrus bent over and vomited viscous orange magic into a nearby bush.

“I just want him back…………” Napstablook said, their voice catching. “I really want my cousin back………… He didn’t even tell me…………”

A loud booming sound rang out through the night. It was Muffet, firing her cannon from the drawing room.

“She fires spiders out of it……… when she’s happy………” explained Napstablook, noting the alarmed expression on Papyrus’ face, “Apparently, they like to feel like they’re flying………”

Papyrus began to sob. The cannon fire continued, masking his pain behind the sound of the defectors’ celebration.


	7. Et Tu?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mettaton's performance begins without a hitch, seemingly proving Alphys wrong. Will it end the same way?

Mettaton spent his final night alive with Papyrus, locked in a passionate embrace. Passionate, at least, for the robot; Papyrus carried out his role like he would scrub the floor of the throne room.

Mettaton ceased his fervent kisses for a moment to shed his black satin negligee for Papyrus, slowly and sensually revealing his improved torso. Papyrus stared at the dangerously exposed soul nestled in the soft silicone of the king’s stomach, feeling his already low spirits sink even lower. He felt not even an iota of arousal. How could he have? 

Mettaton encouraged him greedily to dig in with his bony fingers, and Papyrus did so, the sticky magic bubbling up and clinging desperately to his hand. Mettaton gasped and moaned, writhing happily on the mattress, the excretions from his soul staining the sheets like blood.

* * *

 

 

_Is this… is this what stage fright feels like?_

Mettaton hovered nervously in the wings of the grand _March Idol_ stage, feeling like a young dance student at her very first recital. Lifting a hand from his side, he noted with confusion that it was shaking violently and uncontrollably.

 _I’ve never gotten it before…_ Mettaton mused, turning his hand this way and that. Perhaps a malfunction? And yet, he knew his emotions were organic and not connected to the inner workings of his robotic body.

“Two minutes,” Sans grunted into his headset. Mettaton hastily adjusted the glittery laurels pinned in his hair, feeling dizzy. 

_Come on, now, darling. You’re going to be fantastic. As always. Cancel 'March Idol' this month--_

Alphys’ ominous words integrated in with Mettaton’s self-encouragement so naturally that the robot almost didn’t notice.

“Roll cameras.”

 _"GREETINGS, BEAUTIES AND GENTLEBEAUTIES! WELCOME TO THE NEXT FANTABULOUS SEGMENT OF ‘MARCH IDOL’!”_ Mettaton’s own pre-recorded voice over the loudspeaker seemed foreign, and not his. His breath quickened. He was dissociating.

_"PLEASE WELCOME OUR FINAL CONTESTANT: THE ROYAL KING METTATON EX!"_

The applause track brought Mettaton back to the Underground, to the stage, to the performance. He swallowed his nagging anxiety and stepped into the light, his brilliant smile betraying nothing.

* * *

 

All seemed well.

When Mettaton danced, he existed only for himself. The walls of the stage could come crashing down and he would keep performing without paying any notice.

He was therefore blissfully unaware when Chara appeared behind the unlucky cameraman and ensured the defectors had no physical witnesses.

* * *

 

Sans drew his pointer phalanx along the sharp end of his knife, too deep in thought to notice what he was doing. It scraped harshly on the bone and small bits of powder floated down to the floor from the abrasion. His eyes were hollow and black as pitch.

* * *

 

Mettaton was very proud of his new torso. The lyrical dancewear he chose for his performance was the biggest indicator of this. It was of a classic design-- a white one-piece with a chiffon bustle-- but a large triangle had been taken out of the middle. As the costume was adorned with thick, luxurious lace and what could only be real diamonds, the cutout framed the lustrous heart in the center of his stomach like a precious painting.

He had recently taken a particular liking to Rosemary Clooney’s “Sway”, and was inspired to choreograph it for himself. There was undoubtedly no dancer who could do the song better justice. The performance was going perfectly.  _Here I am, doing_  ' _March Idol'_   _with no problems... I_ _suppose Alphys was wrong,_ Mettaton thought idly to himself.  _Why did I even entertain her crazy idea in the first place?_

_"I can hear the sound of violins… long before… it begins..."_

Knee hinge, pause. Pirouette, travel, pirouette, travel, pirouette. Stag leap, with superhuman precision.

* * *

 

_“Make me thrill as only you know how..."_

Napstablook watched from the wings as their cousin twirled gracefully across the stage. Next to the nervous ghost was Papyrus, who was staring down at his feet. On stage left, behind the curtain, Sans and Muffet.

They couldn’t do it. They had known that from the beginning.

Quietly, so as not to betray themselves, Napstablook faded out of existence, leaving behind a single teardrop that floated lazily up to the ceiling.

_I’m sorry, Happstablook. It shouldn’t have come to this._

* * *

 

_“Sway me smooth, sway me now!”_

Mettaton finished with effortless grace. The instrumental outro crept away into silence. Dead silence. _Where’s the applause track?_

A true professional, his smile did not waver in the slightest.

“Oh, my! I have... ah, I have guests tonight...!” Mettaton feigned excitement as the defectors wandered onstage. He was feeling only innocent confusion, with a prickle of annoyance; no fear until the spotlight reflected off of everyone’s silver knives.

He tried to run, but Muffet caught his arms with all six hands, pulling him backwards until he was facing Sans. Sans struck hard with no hesitation, shoving the knife deep into the center of Mettaton’s exposed soul.

Mettaton howled like a tortured animal as Sans thrust again, and again, and again. Pink soul matter burst from the heart and splattered across the stage. He struggled to free himself and slipped in the mess; Muffet gladly let him fall, after which she pounced like a hungry cat, adding stabs of her own.

Papyrus watched, jawbone ajar, gripping his knife like his own life depended on it. He wanted to cry, to shout, to run away and hide, to die, _something other than this…_

An alarm sounded. Someone had called for help. Muffet leapt away from the king and took off, cackling maniacally. 

“Papyrus! Come on!” Sans shook his brother’s arm. “We have to go!”

Mettaton coughed weakly, spreadeagled in the spotlight. Somehow, he had survived it all. He was suffering. Dying, slowly. Papyrus stayed rooted to the spot.

“Dammit, Paps…” Sans lingered for a few moments, conflicted, before following Muffet.

Papyrus swallowed hard and got down on his kneecaps in front of the king. Mettaton’s eyes slid to Papyrus’ face as he positioned the knife over his tattered soul.

Mettaton blinked, slowly and with great effort. A soft pink tear emerged, sliding down his cheek to join the sea of bodily fluid beneath him.

“You… too…? Papy...rus?”

Papyrus screamed as he plunged the knife in to the hilt, rending both of their hearts in two. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh. This was hard to write.  
> Song: "Sway"-- Rosemary Clooney  
> Also my inspiration for Mettaton's dancewear [here](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/35/8b/94/358b9406f65cc70f8193f671670565e4--custom-dance-costumes-lyrical-costumes.jpg)  
> [And the laurels in his hair](https://img0.etsystatic.com/046/0/6098289/il_570xN.661609618_p8s5.jpg), cuz what's a Julius Caesar outfit without laurels? 

**Author's Note:**

> https://metta-physics.tumblr.com/


End file.
